


I Owe You

by disastertown



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:56:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1761199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disastertown/pseuds/disastertown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How season 2 could have ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Owe You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Owe You A Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/54379) by r/Sherlock on Imgur. 



> Inspired by a fanart/meme of the Reichenbach Fall (NOT MINE) from here:  
> http://imgur.com/r/Sherlock/ReWXAM0
> 
> For heartbroken Johnlockians who wish there had been another way.

“Living!” Moriarty shouted into the sky, “Is so boring. It’s just-“ He made a straight line with his hand, indicating a mundane persistence which he considered was life.

 

“We all have our existential crisis,” Sherlock said, pacing back and forth on the rooftop of the hospital building.

 

“Staying alive,” Moriarty mimicked, the song playing loudly on the i-phone balanced on his fingers, a straight fall of three stories directly below it. “And Sherlock, I thought I owed you a fall.”

 

He muted his blasting i-phone and paced towards Sherlock. He walked around him in circles, looking at him from head to toe. Sherlock glanced sideways at his behavior and rolled his eyes, remaining in his still position.

 

“You can be very romantic sometimes, Jim,” he remarked.

 

“Romantic?” Moriarty made a high-pitched laugh, “I thought John was the romantic one.”

 

Sherlock shrugged. “It seems like I’m surrounded by them.”

 

“Oh don’t be silly. You’re the one who believes in destiny. What’s that you said about the universe? That it’s rarely so lazy?”

 

“That was Mycroft,” Sherlock retorted, “Wholly his idea.”

 

“Ah, but you’re the one who follows it like it’s gospel.”

 

Sherlock fell quiet for a moment.

 

The breaking of the silence was abrupt. “Well, surprise! I brought you a fall!”

 

Sherlock was astounded by a sudden pile full of leaves thrown at his face. Moriarty ran to a nearby pile of fallen, crispy-dry leaves and threw them in the air- at Sherlock, to be specific. He repeated it several times until maples were sticking out of Sherlock’s hair and down his coat. Leaves were scattered everywhere as if it were, indeed, fall.

 

“What? Jim- you’re- pathetic.” Sherlock blurted out, stuttering in awe,

 

Then both of them fell into a fit of giggles. Sherlock raked some leaves up from the ground and threw them at Moriarty’s face, which immediately made the consulting criminal get touchy and yell, “Hey!"

 

Sherlock didn’t stop. Eventually he found an actual rake and started pouring the leaves on top of Moriarty, who had stumbled backwards down onto the floor. Moriarty, for his part, didn’t give up. He accumulated the leaves that fell around him and threw it in the air. It met with Sherlock’s throw and scattered everywhere. Orange, red, yellow, and brown exploded between them under the clear blue sky.

 

Sherlock collapsed on top of Moriarty, panting heavily. He took off his scarf and threw it on the floor. Their faces were inches away from each other and Moriarty could see the sky-blue eyes of Sherlock inheriting his mess of a sprawled figure. Sherlock could feel Moriarty’s soft breathless pants on his face. For a moment, both of their hearts silently thumped quicker than before.

 

"Then let’s run away,” Sherlock said in his deep voice.

 

“How-“ Moriarty began, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

Sherlock interrupted, “I can think of thirteen different ways we can. Right now, right here. You know how magic tricks work.”

 

An intense moment followed. None of them dared to move.

 

“It’s just a game Jim,” Sherlock reasoned, unable to hide the growing enthusiasm in his voice, “Don’t you get it? But for real this time. The great game. It’s what you wanted. We’ll fake our deaths, we’ll disappear. Don’t you get bored? You said so yourself.”

 

“Sherlock, I…” Moriarty swallowed nervously. Sherlock’s pupils widened as adrenaline rushed through his veins.

 

“What the bloody hell are you guys doing here?”

 

Moriarty turned his face towards the new voice, startled.

 

John Watson emerged from the end of the staircase and casually picked up a leaf nearby. “Sherlock… are these…. Leaves? It’s in the middle of June and you’re throwing leaves? Mrs. Hudson is fine and…”

 

Sherlock all of a sudden smirked, the intensity of the situation moments before dissolving away, as if he had decided on something fairly obvious.

 

“Forget it, Moriarty,” Sherlock said, looking up at the still-bewildered John as the army doctor’s eyes now traced towards the leaves stuck in Sherlock’s curls. “Forget about it. We’re staying here. We’re staying in Baker Street.”

 

“Staying? You guys were going somewhere?” John said.

 

“No we weren’t. Aren’t you hungry John? Let’s go and get some food. Breakfast, maybe.”

 

Moriarty stood up, brushing down the leaves and twigs on his clothes, face expressionless. The way John crumbled his lips and glared suspiciously at Sherlock showed great disapproval of the whole situation but- maybe he was feeling quite peckish himself- he shrugged all of a sudden, as if letting whatever he had seen on the rooftop slip from his memory.

 

“John Watson, you keep me right,” Sherlock murmured, softly but clearly, smirking at some kind of personal inner joke, as chose to be the first to head towards the staircase, "Leave Baker Street? England will fall."

 

The three of them left the terrace without a word.


End file.
